Best Served Fake

fifty-two // some sort of harley quinn

I didn't get back from Casserine until the late afternoon.

The drive home was long and exhausting, and my conversation with Zac and the proceeding days had left me emotionally wrung out. I was ready to crawl into bed and sleep for days, weeks, even years. But when I pulled into the driveway, I saw a figure with glossy dark hair sitting on the stairs of my front porch.

When I stepped in front of her, she didn't say anything. She just raised a hand to shield her eyes against the sun, squinting up at me for reassurance that I wouldn't kick her off my property.

I couldn't have said why I didn't. Maybe I was too tired, too starved of female friends my own age. Because instead, I sat down on the porch beside her, like we used to when we were kids. She didn't say anything.

Sydney had never been one for comfortable silence, more because she had too much to say than any real aversion to the quiet. But we spent so much time in one another's company that there were bound to be periods where there was no obligation to speak, where we would lie side by side on Sydney's bed with books in hand, flipping through the pages and reading funny scenes to each other. I missed how easy, how comfortable, those times had been, and wanted the closest thing to it, even if it was only temporary.

So I sat down beside her, our legs forming two sets of parallel lines, framed by wooden pillars either side.

"Cora's not speaking to me," I told her.

It was probably the last thing she ever expected me to say, but confiding in Sydney was a habit that, at my lowest, hardest point, I had not broken. If there was ever a time I needed my confidante, it was now.

I didn't know what I was expecting in response. For Sydney to berate Cora, as she had done so many times before? Criticise her tendency toward anger? I didn't want that, but maybe it would make me feel better.

Sydney was not the girl she'd once been though. Because instead she said, "Do you deserve it?"

"Probably."

"Because of the Kai thing?"

I was too exhausted to question how she knew. Kai wouldn't have told her; Sydney had clearly figured it out. It was always a likelihood; Sydney was attuned to me. She, more than anyone, perhaps, had the capacity to know that I was faking it with Kai.

"Yep," I said, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. It was hard and smooth where it rested against my cheek, the only imperfection to the white paint was the initials carved into the wood; S.C. and V.W. Fitting.

I couldn't see the expression on Sydney's face, and her tone was equally as devoid of emotion. We were both so tired, she and I. "It's probably not easy when your best friend starts dating the guy you're in love with. Probably harder when you find out she broke your heart and it wasn't even because she loved him. And someone like Cora would never see much value in a ploy for revenge."

I sat up abruptly. Sydney still had her face turned upwards, seeking the last dying rays of sunlight. When she realised she'd garnered my attention, she looked back at me, backlit by the sunset, throwing her features into a glittering profile.

"Cora was in love with Kai?" I said, weakly.

Sydney shrugged. "Still is, I suspect. Always has been. They've always known each other, you know. The Hart's have always tried to look out for Kai and Isabelle, so they used to spend summer together." At my distress, Sydney winced. "Cora has a saviour complex, Valerie. Kai is the perfect tragic figure that would star in all of her romantic fantasies."

I hugged my arms around my body, as if I could hold myself together at the seams. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Okay," Sydney said softly. "Sorry. I thought you knew. Cora would have thought you knew, too."